


Bond on Barlow

by FaerieChild



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: #Dancing, #cheesy love songs, #christmas, #drunk!Q, #fluff, #office christmas party, #spiked punch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:36:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Q is drunk at the office Christmas party and makes Bond slow dance to cheesy Gary Barlow ballads...when he's not too busy falling over himself laughing, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bond on Barlow

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted anything in a while and I'm feeling a bit nervous about getting back into it so please be kind.

It was the office Christmas party. There was tinsel all over the computers. Everyone had a silly hat on and there was a large buffet set up against the wall on one side of the room with the usual array of oddly random party food when everyone was asked to bring something. There were too many desserts and not enough sausage rolls and that, to Q, was just perfect. There was Christmas tree at the top of the room festooned with a rag-tag assortment of other people’s unwanted Christmas decorations and Q’s cat had taken the opportunity to use the tree’s pot as a toilet.

Moneypenny was here. She was talking to Hardeep from accounts who didn’t celebrate Christmas but had come for the good will and the buffet. Tanner was hanging around near the end of the buffet table trying to moderate the spiking of the punch and consuming a steady stream of mince pies and several Q Branch boffins were doing something Bond presumed to be dancing. Their dancing was really pretty terrible, but the lot of them were drunk and giggly and James had developed something of a soft spot for drunk, giggling boffins. The ones Q had gathered around him like a queen bee in a beehive, were frighteningly competent, alert and could probably bring down civilisation if they could be persuaded to come out of their labs for long enough.

James, of course, was only here in an honorary capacity. They had decided that out of deference to their Overlord and James’s acceptable compliance with the knitwear regulations he would be allowed to attend as the Quartermaster’s unofficial-official partner. That is, he could do what he always did and stand silently but with as intimidating an air as possible in Q’s general vicinity whilst everyone around them kept up the pretense they were only work colleagues.

The speakers were blasting out awful vintage pop music. Bond had endured Abba, Billy Ray Cyrus and East 17 and was just about ready to give R’s ipod the death it deserved when the tell tale chords of a Gary Barlow ballad took up on the speakers followed promptly by one of those horrific saxophone solos that had, somehow, been popular then.

An adorable, giggling Q wobbled over to James and took him firmly by the hand. James used his free hand to straighten Q’s glasses.

“Come along, Bond.”

“What are we doing?”

“Dancing.”

“We are not dancing.”

“Technically I outrank you,” Q reminded Bond with as imperious a manner as he could manage after five plastic cupfuls of punch. Hardeep had moved on to discussing next year’s Diwali party with R while Tanner and Eve were currently arguing over adding melon or raspberry liqueur. Bond thought they should just add both and be done with it, but while his mind wandered he found that he had been dragged halfway across the branch to the area cleared for dancing. Q pointedly placed Bond’s hands around his waist and cuddled up to Bond.

“See? Dancing.”

A Million Love Songs Later continued to blast out through the speakers. Well, if this was what Q wanted who was he to spoil the party. Bond stepped a little closer until they were pressing up against each other and slowly they began to sway to the music.

“This is nice,” Q declared.

The entire branch was staring at them, Eve had a knowing look on her face and Tanner had one of the soppy smirks that he got whenever he watched one of those romcoms his wife loved. Bond himself was barely holding back the barrels of laughter that were rumbling in his chest.

“Q…”

“Shush. I’m having a moment.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Too bloody right!”

Bond couldn’t hold a straight face. The laughter bubbled out of him and soon the laughter was beginning to affect Bond’s footwork. Given that Q was severely under the influence, neither was helping the other much.

“Q, we’re dancing to A Million Love Songs Later at the office Christmas party.”

Q began to giggle. He had a stupid grin on his face.

“Don’t!” Bond warned him. If Q lost it they might just trip over each other and collapse in a heap of limbs on the dance floor. By this time the infectious good spirits had spread to Eve and Tanner who were watching Q and Bond dance and covering their mouths as their shoulders shook with mirth.

The Quartermaster accidentally stood on James Bond’s foot.

“Q…!”

Q lost it. Bond had to physically grab his dance partner to keep him on his feet. Q, once steady, simply pushed up his glasses and carried on until finally the song concluded whereupon Q promptly grabbed Bond’s head in both hands and snogged his face off.

Bond didn’t think he’d ever seen Q quite so happy and seeing Q happy made Bond happy. He was, almost, smiling. “You’re adorable.”

“I am a very responsible boffin with a predilection for fruit cocktails and cheesy love songs. We might even have this at our wedding,” Q grinned wickedly.

“We are not having this at our wedding,” Bond insisted and then paused. “Q, when exactly are we getting married?”

“As soon as I persuade you. I need Christmas cake.” A wobbly Q began walking in the direction of the buffet with it’s vast array of finger food and paper plates. Unfortunately for Bond, Q had taken one of his hands hostage and so Bond was forced to drag along in Q’s wake as his boyfriend, The Quartermaster, weaved through the crowd of equally tipsy employees.

“It has marzipan in it. You don’t like marzipan,” Bond reminded him.

“That’s what I have a boyfriend for. He can eat the marzipan.”

“Your boyfriend has a waistline to keep.”

“My boyfriend,” Q hiccuped. “Has a date with me under the mistletoe.”

“Hmm…Mistletoe first, marzipan after.”

Q smiled his Cheshire cat smile. Christmas was looking up this year.


End file.
